"untrodden" poems
Hidden at the back of my mind
an idyllic vision
taking a trip
to span all continents.
Travel to Asia's Great Wall, Europe's Eiffel Tower
Africa's Giza Pyramid, America's Statue of Liberty.
Travel by Aladdin's magic carpet
spell-bound and comfortable, yet bewitched.
Travel for too long
for an endless trip, there it is
my destination.
A final full of dreams, a final to come true
a destination that fir altogether
a destination with that jigsaw.
I cry to reach for destination
I wait for long hours, saying myself
when I reach it - that will be it
this trip is for lasting happiness. But last destination lost
it's a dram, can't believe t'was a dream
a dream which outdistances me.
Next time, I promise
not to travel with that genie's carpet again
go to walk through path untrodden
go to climb Mt. Mayon, swim more to the Pacific deep
go bare footed in the Gobi
I promise, I promise
to live more my travel
the destination, the next stop
sooner in sight
than I expect it to be.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
Stretching and shouldering night away a sun crouches
to birth black's ousting
by one more empty circle of dark's hollowed pouches
then outs in sparkling showers.
Spangled with myriad star-labour unfolding membranes,
like numberless leaves
dreamers listen to soft serenades as the universe favours
lullaby-songs to deep breathing.
Silvered surface shivers with night-eyes as glittery dust
follows with dart-swift
flight each soul's winged journey while murmuring such
mysteries to those sleeping still.
Glimmers on sightless horizon reveal light's celebration
while untrodden dew
newly writhing in close-capped life waits inertia's frame
stirring to shake before rising.
Piercing the brain time's needle regathers worn threads
and remembers that more
sown seed means now-grown grain needs re-collection
in daylight's mind-aware storage.
Open-eyed, naught is over as hinging on less or more,
sun, with slumber done,
now hurries to open the thin partition between yawns
of torpidity to more hours won.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
#***" Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend." - Albert Camus***
~ ~ ~
The telegraph road circled through the foothills,
rising towards the majestic mountain high
It’s been a long and twisting passage soon forgotten,
with the pavement abruptly dead ending,
just below the timberline
The dawning blue heavens look so much closer now
Just a step away from standing within reach
The birds uplifted on the telegraph wire rest atop me;
perched on the final material traces
disregarded by a digital world
My awakening soul is ascending beyond
the distant alpine meadow horizon
At the threshold of an untrodden wilderness wonderland,
climbing up above the meandering clouds
It’s exhilarating to look back and know
there is no turning back around;
I’ve never been higher
and can never get back down
What unknown frontier lies in wait before me now?
Just on the other side of the impossible dream?
The last step forward to find the next step beyond the bounds
There is not that much that changes,
when we just repeat the same old song
The atmosphere’s thin air leaves me gasping for wings
Like dust and ashes free to soar with the tempest breeze
If only time would sever these loathsome ties that bind
The ones that enchain the weight of this load unto me
While understanding the pace to a long journey’s rhythm
The only barometer you have to trust is in your heart
Adaptation is at the core of freedom's survival
But it feels almost like running away
I have felt the fear of falling with nothing left to lose
I’ve climbed as far as flesh and bones can reach
I've come this far always feeling subtly afraid
It has been a great distance back from the beginning;
knowing I must take these last steps alone.
Understanding it was love that brought me here
Naturally tugs at the spirit in my soul encouraging me on
I'll keep searching for the shining light of guidance
Listening for a voice that softly beckons me home...
written by: harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
—Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
3.6k
Three thousand miles
navigating a storm
without drop of bad weather
Abacus odometer clicks
rotating forward ―
spinning with the
world go round
Circling back down
a long and winding road;
where unforgotten memories
were once searchingly explored,
untrodden pathways
coursing way up north of alone
on the low highway
Now an aging shepherd
wonders without a compass ;
a vagabond deprived of light
from an ever blurring north star
Heart empty as a gas tank
with a broke down gauge,
running on fumes of hope
for unpromised tomorrows
Running from loneliness
just to be on the run
The gales of silence bellow
No feelings I can see ― lay me low
Wild-eyed daydreams
of Full sails billow out
through the windshield,
only hearing the unspoken
moments sigh restlessly ―
The dull droning road rumble
re-sighs renunciatively,
a tired monotone voice
mimicking the loathe silent echo
wallowing in an
omnipresent hollow void
deriding unspoken chaos
between the passing centerlines ―
A frost heave pothole erupts,
with a leaf-spring rattling thud,
as a fleeting cloud of dust arises,
set adrift with the draught
headed off the east side
of the Alcan highway:
blown way outside the lines,
towards the Alberta prairie
White knuckled steering wheel
held sway, rolling down
a beckoning wilderness
reincarnation;
default reset button paused ―
stuck in a moment ― until another jaw rattling
frost-heave pothole in the highway,
jars it free
Leaving it all behind
like a sigh breathed
in a silence a heart has outgrown;
just a fleeting cloud of dissipating dust,..
a paling whisper
the past seems to send forth
like a fading last breath
Letting it all unfold to become what it is
harlon rivers ... May 2018
... travelogue 2 of some
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
#*“You cannot hold it, but it will cradle you.
You cannot see or touch it, but when contact comes,
You will see me, hold me, as in the days of your youth,
When you loved me best,
And I, you.”*
**From: Seven New Poems for Seven Days #2: Hover
... by Nat Lipstadt**
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
in memoriam to memories:
for Miriam and Nat
reading each thought numerous ticks of days,
imbibe the silent of the silence
hanging from the rafters this wilderness roof;
grayed heartwood walls that separate
fractals of inseparable distances ― celebrations
the roads taken ― memories of those left behind
at the side of the mile untrodden
Congregated love and sorrow’s spoken words
scribed on paper bark touchstones ―
etched watermarks of perpetual tides
patina the afterglow of life's ebb and flow,
traces of everything and naught can ever fill
Experiencing intimate moments immemorial;
the whispers of living pulse still murmurs
in the gentle breeze between the gathered words of heart
breathing deeply ― a rush of systemic truth
born in the wholly sacred blood bequeathed
A soul outside the lines ponders ―
the sum whole of a life well lived;
coming to understand, although
all might not see the same light shine:
there’s a place one day we’ll return
we found along the way
because one day will come by here …
harlon rivers ... Memorial Day weekend ... May, 2018
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
I've never been startled to surprise
seeing a man riding a six-wheel bicycle on my side
gazing up his smile in full plain sight
so subtle like pinwheels on summer breeze.
Cheese! says the lens-man from southeast
a harmonious melody led me round and round
till horses jump out of the merry-go-round
so as teacups swirling with no succulent tea
but are found to be couples squirming in obscurity.
Surprised! that no one tend to flee
for nights fright of lustful fantasies
covered their state of subtle ease.
Oh Fun, Fun, Fun, when there seems to be no sun
and I felt heedless to ponder
the fact that I endlessly Run, Run, Run
in far out yonder
then oops! ouch!
I howled like thunder.
Deluded, how I fell on the ground
when music suddenly lost it sound
colors I've knew were out of bound
and haze of somnolence was all I found.
Where could I be?
Surprise!
He shrieked
Who could it be?
Unexpectedly he's someone I could not see!
yet only I can hear.
A nowhere man whom greeted with sigh
though I've never seen him in beacon's of light
for he always knows how to welter my sight
his eerie voice orchestrates the eventide
shocked me with so much surprise.
for his eyes lilt like fireflies.
He given me a euphony, took away the agony
and hid me somewhere I can't even grasp
how many he had taken away to his untrodden land
to turn me as one of them, his very own nowhere man.
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
Untrodden silver cesspool,
Darkened by bombshell blast,
Riding in weathered abyss,
Covered with killer cannon fodders past.
Black battle went into starstruck night,
All started to fall, but not all fast,
Over tricky time they all did fight,
With wind guiding bloodstained mast.
Lovers light broke with rising sun,
Gleefully gallivanting through hours passed,
Tediously tiptoeing with hopes to run,
Over red salty sea made infinitely vast.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
there are questions I can't ask
for I speak a strange tongue
and walk in a land desolate
but they will be answered
as I walk, as they were behind me
in surprising places and unseen light
the burden's easy, the walk's a delight
gladly I bear the gift, precious and life itself
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 1:04 AM UTC
Since I met you here, dear friend
I began to like this place a lot
at first sight it was eerie here
and the ground for me too hot
As I continued walking
upon untrodden paths
rotten fruit surrounding me
no bees or birds are singing
I wonder walking all alone
no sign of a living soul
all green softness disappeared,
and everywhere was stone
Wondering all the time, no shame
I found a clear chrystal ditch at last
if you will ask about the name
is that the present or in the past?
My head turning, my feet burning
they are to blurr my view
great bliss that pure water and some dew
wish that shall change my head from spinning
Then walking all the while with the same view
I see from far a green stip slowly coming
in seventh heaven am I, since it's a human being
I thank Thee on my naked knees, it is you my friend
I notice beauty yonder
the mockingbird and wren
have a duet together
I wonder since when
After I've met you, friend
I like this place a lot
it's not so eerie anymore
and God's blessings are on this spot
© Sylvia Frances Chan
27th April 2013
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:56 AM UTC
Fill in the blanks with those vocabularies never ever found in usual discussion, daily comes and goes, never existed even on imaginary world of movies or books.
Fill in the blanks with noise.
Tumult of hallucination whizzing the sound of ambiguity through the sound of the gait of a man galloping smoothly in the long yellow brick route surrounds with fences never expose the way of redemption.
Fill in the blanks with choice.
The last track of nightingale, maybe, dwells on the far branches of novel blossom tree of best spring with no worrisome regards countable, uncountable, passives, actives, adjectives or nouns.
Fill in the blanks with skylarks of no boast.
It is causative by its own, Imagery flying over the untrodden lands inspires the eyes overview the long hair singers hadn’t been observed before. Access is denied!
Fill in the blanks with liberty of boost.
Aurora …aurora…. Some body calls. Pretending to be wise whole life, how nonsense it was. Being lunatic is secret of joy.
Fill in the blanks with wandering ghosts!
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 7:29 AM UTC
Is it thy will that I should wax and wane,
Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey,
And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain
Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day?
Is it thy will—Love that I love so well—
That my Soul’s House should be a tortured spot
Wherein, like evil paramours, must dwell
The quenchless flame, the worm that dieth not?
Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure,
And sell ambition at the common mart,
And let dull failure be my vestiture,
And sorrow dig its grave within my heart.
Perchance it may be better so—at least
I have not made my heart a heart of stone,
Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast,
Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknown.
Many a man hath done so; sought to fence
In straitened bonds the soul that should be free,
Trodden the dusty road of common sense,
While all the forest sang of liberty,
Not marking how the spotted hawk in flight
Passed on wide pinion through the lofty air,
To where some steep untrodden mountain height
Caught the last tresses of the Sun God’s hair.
Or how the little flower he trod upon,
The daisy, that white-feathered shield of gold,
Followed with wistful eyes the wandering sun
Content if once its leaves were aureoled.
But surely it is something to have been
The best beloved for a little while,
To have walked hand in hand with Love, and seen
His purple wings flit once across thy smile.
Ay! though the gorged asp of passion feed
On my boy’s heart, yet have I burst the bars,
Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed
The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!
1.8k
One little footstep and you reach beyond the fence
And see the unknown world touching your sense
There on the ****** soil softly land your feet
In a world unexplored you were so keen to meet.
One little footstep and you fly above the fence
In one magic leap to a remote distance
There on the untrodden path lie great secrets
Unseen spectacles and unheard sonnets.
One little footstep and you reach beyond the fence
To reach the mountain top and the ocean’s silence
Rise high and delve deep for the most precious find
That lies hidden down there inside your mind.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 6:39 AM UTC
A sallowest silence drips,
drop by drop,
into open muddy palms
The ripple in the gathering cup
of hand, undulates within soul
like poignant ocean waves
eat away at the sands of time ,
just below where
a lighthouse beacon beckons
shining from someplace I can’t find
A hidden pathway
lies untrodden
beneath a thousand
dew drop clad ferns ,
fronds bestrewn with autumn’s
befallen sleight of hand
swaddled in her fading
manifest guise
Where wild mushrooms
rise blindly from
resplendent darkness
beneath silken earthen moss ,
to teach the parables ,
how fleeting a moment passes
The moment enwrapped
in nature's solicitude ,
the only shelter
mother nature's own refugees
whom dwell in an ever fugitive
sense of belonging
Fallen Lichen scattered
like wild feathers ,
traces from a higher ground ;
sown bread crumbs
of the heavens ,
abandoned like slowly falling
snowflakes upon a labyrinth
coursing beyond
emerald dank bejewel
Leading me willingly onward
beyond belated familiarity ,
exiled void of affinity
a Trumpeter swan
in search of wapatos
The stone cold silent languor
rises up through
thickly grasping moss
Wind stirs the ennui
with a breath of kindness ,
chilling a body in a soul
as cold as lonely stone ,
sheathed beneath
its hard yet fragile disguise
A twisted pathway
leading somewhere
I yearn to follow ;
somewhere unknown
beckoning from
deeply hidden hope
and its urgent calling
Somehow the uncertainty
of the path I am drawn
makes me feel
a little less removed
Assured by the gentle touch
deeply rooted ancient earthen spirits ,
beyond doubt , I’m never alone
deep beyond wooded margin
Cocooned in creation’s sanctuary
mother nature’s own refugee ...
wild is the wind
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
The black night’s ebbing tide
erased the only remaining hints,
the cresting long ocean swells
did not cleanse without a trace.
Adrift and lethargically bobbing
seaweed entangled teakwood box
of water-logged photographs, drowning,
surrendered from the heart of the sea
Like molted wild feathers cast ashore with the tide
to the coarse specks of rasping sands,
Darwin's dream in an emptied sea-bubble popped,
dissipated into its own haplessness,
bestrewn about an untrodden seashore
Washed out snapshots of life’s disregarded minutia
enchained to an ordinary forgotten Kodachrome moment
left out to the consequences of the ever fickle tides,
abandoned happenstance spilled by chance
upon another undiscovered world
The warped and bloated wooden box encasement,
hoary with swollen furrowed woodgrain s,
wearied by an enduring measureless moment adrift;
as if an ill-fated message in a misbegotten leaky bottle,
corked with marooned good intentions,
and images of disappearing dreams
flung out shipwrecked in barnacled azure glass
beneath a sky so far away
someone you used to know
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,
As one who sits ashore and longs perchance
To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.
So thou wast blind;--but then the veil was rent,
For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live,
And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,
And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive;
Aye on the shores of darkness there is light,
And precipices show untrodden green,
There is a budding morrow in midnight,
There is a triple sight in blindness keen;
Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel
To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.
1.6k
Epilepsy. Bipolar.
The words that we speak.
Shear words into our hearts, unfolding before our eyes. Both engrain a fear of desperation that speaks louder than words.
It isn't so bad when you understand them. Almost one and the same, unpredictable in their paths.
One has it, the other doesn't. The path that we both share, both unrequited. Like love. Still, like love.
We share.
Uncontrollable actions bloom forth from seizure to mood episode, blossoming forth an understanding that surpasses understanding to those to don't experience it.
And all that is needed is love. And understanding.
We share in that we both yearn for a world that understands our actions, never to be trusted from within. The pain. The uncertainty.
Are the same to those from the outside. "Oh, she has seizures." "Oh, he's depressed." The words we hear. "You're unreliable." "You're too much for me to handle."
The shame.
We deal with that which we cannot speak, yet we understand beyond words that comprehend. The path laden before us untrodden yet familiar. We push forward because we must.
And we'll do so again.
Together we'll conquer both or be consumed, unyielding to the torrent from within. Because we must.
We must.
Push forward.
That is the only way.
Sep 8, 2022
Sep 8, 2022 at 6:54 AM UTC
I used to like
wearing her shoes
It gave me a
sense of grown up
Never realised
Her shoes walked
through the unknown
untrodden roads
Which i could never
ever imagine to go!
But now is my turn
To get into my shoes
To not compare
and try to wear her shoes
But to find my path
To be on my own
How i wonder,
how did she walk
through the dark
Not complaining
But to focus on her duties
I understand now
Emotions turns aside
When it comes to duties
Be who you want to be
You let me live through
Helping me all along
Now is my turn
You live your life
Fulfill the dreams of your own
And i will stand by you
Somewhere from far off.
Mar 10, 2022
Mar 10, 2022 at 11:50 PM UTC
~~~
*bathed by breezes of southern gentility,
sun soaped by eye-prickling,
star twinkling glints,
shampooed in delicious waves
of white sno caps,
my crazy wild hair,
conditioned by the foaming bay's riffles
dappled waters transformed into a
Van Gogh glow of
The Sower
sprinkling golden seed
upon fields of summer wheat glorious
my little yellow rubber duckies,
are now blue white snow geese alive,
down from Nova Scotia,
where August is already
emboldened colden,
so they non-stop honk
tho mere passerbys,
everybody is seeking a place in history,
the surety,
that this poem,
by their inclusion herein,
promises posterity
the grass blades wave with
endless swaying applause,
at yet another attempt of poetic tribute,
for once more,
spell bound
by the bounty of the moment,
enslaved happily to the idea
there is no satiation possible
from the earthly satisfaction of this place,
this sheltered isle
the leaves are cappuccino frothy performers,
unison shaking just like a roman legion of stadium fans,
they offer me untold numbers of
likes and reads,
and other candied goodies,
promises endless to root for my winter dream teams,
if their presence is here
prominently included,
until they too
fall silent, grounded,
shed by their rightful owners
every time I think the well is dry,
swept under by a rip tide
of drowning overwhelming gratitude,
for here I come to a place.
a station for repair,
where poems are bandied about,
summer fruits ripe for plucking
sunroom lace, summer curtains,
will hide out here in my absence,
the lace, turns into snowflakes crystalline,
by icy waters and gusts,
that will be both
untrodden and unadmired
for when the poet is clad in the
damask drapes of winter's inevitability,
will close his eyes and
will hide out here,
right here,
in this one of his never ending
prior~poem~prayers homages,
until next year's
can't-come- too-early spring arrives,
sparked by tendrils of meeting markers,
noting that
new poems have been fallow fallen,
winter seeded,
awaiting your
watering and writing,
of the appreciation
of the
simple majesty
of this small corner of the earth*
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
Protected by your existence like a canopy of green,
Shielded from the relentlessness of the driving sun,
I pass alone in this wood,
My own existence of no consequence to you.
My verdurous being, a revered reflection of yours,
Purposefully strides through this untrodden thicket.
A determined will is mine,
Emboldened by the prominence of your own stature.
Yours is a mettle tested by the summer tempest,
Cultivated in the rich soil of the ancient detritus -
An earned eminence,
Beyond the grasps of many adoring hands.
Reaching is just a feeble attempt at an earthly yearning;
Your presence in my mind is a more satisfying ownership.
It is what you are that I own,
Taken away only by being untrue to yourself.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
I
duck into tree light
while this red earth field,
seven years ripe,
germinates small answers
to questions hard planted.
You,
Shroud in silence,
drink the silver night air
while the elusive slips
silently by.
We
stand sky-high
weaving through
grain threshed
wind swept fields.
Suddenly,
awakened by the capacious star's
rising yellow ardor,
verdant implants of dewy life
lift skyward and scatter untrodden roots.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 2:43 PM UTC
The city of my heart, one which had closed its doors long ago.
Stands with shattered ruins cloaked in the miasma of my dread.
The forges which had gone out long ago,
Have rekindled flames burning bright.
Resurrected hope flutters against the bleak backdrop,
Its wings burning bright against the smoke.
I look at you and smile.
You look at me and gaze into my soul.
Healing it.
I want to ask you to stop,
If you look into the abyss,
The abyss shall look into you.
But my protests are silenced,
Rendered mute by the touch of your lips.
You smirk, knowing the power you hold over your knave.
Slowly, your taste sets my senses on fire,
A fire which is feral.
For a brief moment I am whole again,
Yet we must part to take a breath.
You smile and hold me in your embrace,
All shall be well, you whisper in my ear.
A thousands paths lay untrodden,
What does the never ending future hold?
All I want is that we continue our journey,
Our journey towards that eternal dream.
And never truly let go.
Maybe if the Gods grace me their favor,
Maybe we'll slip into the darkness together.
On the same breath we'll leave our mortal shells.
To be one forever more.
You've opened a door in my heart,
One I didn't know was there.
I'm here on the edge again,
Don't let me go.
In the warmth of your embrace,
I know I'm finally home.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!
1.2k
Off the beaten track
along that deep unknown path
i found your music
which flows free within me now
and as we dance together
the night grows longer
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 5:14 AM UTC
We are naturally wary of different
Our anticipatory
Participation in fear
Blinds us from the signs
That classification
Of the population
Fuels separation
In our great nation
And the degradation
Of our education
Through miscommunication
Due to deprivation
Of alleviation
As far as the segregation
Taking its formation
In our imagination?
These bounds we set
To set us apart
Take hold in heart
Because we impart
The notion of racism
Through our pride
Proud to be black
Proud to be white
Proud to be
Whatever it is that is me.
I’m sure it is right
Though I did not choose
No I wasn’t trusted with choice
I wasn’t given an option
No opinion to voice
I came as I am
I came as man
With no color in mind
Nor hate in heart
A patch of untrodden
Still smoothed soft snowflakes
Unscathed by the treads
Of worn down soles.
No limits exist
To whom
They were never shown
Never taught
Through words or by deed
Never separated
Through race or creed
Disparity through diversification
Norms forming cult cultures
Secluded islands of identifiers
Imprisoned in our tradition
Caught up in the familial familiarity
Of being a drop in a raincloud
Growing heavier each summer day
Until the burden bursts
Out in thunderous roar.
And yet the race will remain
Runners at their mark
Pushing to get ahead of the pack
Forgetting there is no finish-line
Since it was never a race at all.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC